


take down your barricades and follow your own heart now

by Anonymous



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, No Angst, Pure Marshmallow Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, they just really love each other here its all good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-02-01 03:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21353908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "...and when Charles looks at him, he feels like he's drowning in just how much Pierre makes him feel."
Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc
Comments: 10
Kudos: 62
Collections: Anonymous





	take down your barricades and follow your own heart now

**Author's Note:**

> wow coast isn't writing any angst in this at all? can you believe it? dont worry i already started om a nice and slow burn angsty christmas/winter....thing  
but I really just wanted something pure and soft and sweet after watching the video of TR at NASA and how excited Pierre was and this came to fruition. it's not my most solid writing but its so goddamn marshmallow soft I had to publish it.  
as always, this is a work of pure fiction, in no way is it meant to reflect or portray real life. please do not post or share elsewhere without my permission!  
title is from always by panama

Even after memorable races and grandiose travels across the world, it's always the few nights he gets to spend with Pierre before and after a race weekend that excite Charles- the few times during the season that they can peel themselves away from teams, even if only for a few hours, and find comfort in the simple presence of one another. Austin's a lovely city, albeit uncharacteristically cold, and Charles truly enjoys getting the A-list tourist treatment, but something about the frigid weather and the unfamiliar and unremarkable hotel makes him feel unwelcome- without Pierre there, it all seems a bit lackluster.

Therefore, it's no surprise at all to find him anxiously awaiting Pierre's flight from Houston, standing awkwardly at the gates of ABIA, a set of keys to a loaner Alfa Romeo swinging from a lanyard around his wrist. He had asked for something a bit more surreptitious than his usual Ferrari loaner, and thankfully some poor corporate intern had delivered. Dressed down and out of red, he's virtually invisible to the masses that filter past him- to them, probably just another international college student, coming or going once more. Not a soul casts a secondary glance, and in some twisted sort of way, it's a relief to be so damn unknown. He can simply stare at his phone and wait for the minutes until Pierre's soles are on solid ground once more to tick past.

He's particularly engrossed in reading a long thread of heated Instagram comments when a familiar stubbly chin hooks over his shoulder, arms wrapping around him for a quick and friendly squeeze around the waist before Pierre unlatches himself and throws his luggage back over his own shoulder.

Pierre looks positively radiant- and Charles thinks that, while some of that is his own personal bias (and he thinks Pierre would look pretty no matter what), it's downright miraculous that this is the same man who looked like hell only four days prior, curled over a toilet and throwing up the contents of his stomach, clutching Charles's own hand in a vice grip so tight you'd think he'd never had to experience being sick before. But no, here he stands now, looking as well put together and damn near modelesque as ever, even in the shitty flourescent airport light, even after a uselessly short flight on a crappy airline, even after falling sicker than a dog only a few nights prior.

"You look great," Charles finally says, realizing he's probably gaping a little bit, but he can't really help it- all these years he's known Pierre, and even arbitary interactions with the Frenchman still make him feel a little stupid. Pierre just laughs, a familiar sound that's maybe a bit too loud and piercing against the muted din of the terminal, but sounds like music to Charles's ears- and fuck, he finally realizes, he's really in it deep. One corner of Pierre's mouth tilts up into his trademark crooked smile, a dimply thing reminiscent of cartoon characters, and when he looks at Charles the Monegasque feels equally split between melting into the floor and kissing the shit out of Pierre. He maintains composure, manages to do neither.

"You're not too bad yourself," Pierre laughs, letting go of his rolling suitcase for a moment to reach out and squeeze Charles hand- it's a quick, discreet little motion, virtually undetectable to anyone not paying close attention to the two, but it feels like a million words that don't have to be said. They bump shoulders as they go along, leisurely tracking their way back to Charles's Giulia parked under the massive Texas night sky.

"And you're feeling better?" Charles asks, swinging the lanyard around his wrist in a circle. He makes sure to take slightly faster strides and get ahead of Pierre when necesaary, holds doors open and savors the slight pink on Pierre's cheekbones.

"Yeah, lots," the Frenchman says truthfully, wincing and falling a bit quieter with the second half of his sentence. "Sorry you had to see me like that, was pretty gross."

Now it's Charles's turn to laugh, elbow Pierre a bit and give him a goofy smile that perks them both up.

"Yeah, it was gross," he teases, and Pierre rolls his eyes at that, "but you don't need to apologize for getting sick, it happens. I know you'd have done the same thing for me. All that matters now is that you're feeling better."

Pierre lets out an affirmative hum, wishing they were out of eye and earshot so he could properly return the love to Charles, but he's willing to wait until they're at least out of the busy airport. When they finally step out into the chilly Texas air, Charles shivers a bit and picks up their pace.

"C'mon," he says, taking Pierre's free hand with his own and leading him through row after row of monochrome sedans, "I parked over here."

It's not long before they've thrown all of Pierre's bags into the cavernously empty trunk of the Alfa, and they're both savoring the plush and heated leather seats. Charles is dicking around on his phone, desperately attempting to find a way back downtown that won't force them to sit through creeping traffic- and soon thereafter gives up, deciding to let Google decide what to do next with a melodramatic sigh. Pierre laughs, leans across the console and presses a gentle kiss to Charles's mouth, the Monegasque pressing back a bit more desperately.

"Hey," Pierre breathes like he's greeting Charles for the first time, like they're not right up in each other's personal space in that very moment. He leans back into his seat, reaches up to push back the sliding cover to the sunroof, taking in the moonlight and the appreciable views- entire constellations that can be seen even this close to a big, polluted city.

"Hey," Charles laughs back, breathless, reaching for Pierre's left hand and linking their fingers over his own thigh. The older man's eyes are lit by the flourescent parking lot lamps and the dim moonlight, blue and twinkling with an almost childlike fascination, and when Charles looks at him, he feels like he's drowning in just how _much_ Pierre makes him feel.

"We should probably get going now if we want to sleep at all tonight. Traffic's not good," he states, pulling Pierre's calloused knuckles up to his lips to press a kiss there. He releases Pierre's hand and finally shifts the car in to drive, enjoying the warmth spreading on his own thigh when the Frenchman instead rests his open palm there. 

"I have so much to tell you about NASA," Pierre starts, voice tinged with barely contained excitement, and Charles has to ignore the shiver that runs down his spine when Pierre squeezes his thigh to emphasize the point. He pulls out onto the highway, internally groaning at the line of brake lights that seems to stretch kilometers into the distance, but when Pierre's familiar raspy voice fills the silence of the cabin, talking of stars and flying and the moon, Charles has never felt more grateful for gridlock traffic.

"..seeing it all, it makes you feel capable of dreaming again," Pierre murmurs, and when Charles looks over and sees the Frenchman wildly gesticulating with his free hand, his features gently lit by streetlights, he understands exactly Pierre's sentiment.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading this silliness this far, i hope you all have good toothbrushes bc its so damn tooth rotting. and as always, thank you for reading and leaving kudos and feeback.


End file.
